Lessie: Bride of Utah (American Mail-Order Bride 45) (9 page)

She trailed fingertips along the stately curve of a chair at the table. Apparent admiration, but what did he know of his wife’s preferences?

“If you don’t care for my furniture choices, you’re welcome to make different purchases.”

He couldn’t believe he’d offered to allow her to redo, redecorate, spend more money. The house had been professionally decorated, the furniture carefully chosen by one who knew all about it so everything matched and created a pleasing home environment. But somehow, he knew Lessie wouldn’t spend him into the poorhouse.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

He saw her take in the eight chairs around the table, the potential for dinner parties or perhaps children seated around this table with them.

“I like it just as it is.” Her smile— so genuine and real nearly knocked him onto his back.

Oh, yeah. He definitely needed to see Lessie smile more often.

“The kitchen’s through here.” He led her through the pantry with cupboards with glass-fronted doors displaying serving dishes, drawers for the silverware.

He turned on the gas lamps to give her a better view of the modern kitchen with all of today’s conveniences. Running hot and cold water at the sink. A large, beautifully finished ice box . A large and efficient range. A small table meant for intimate meals for one or two. A doorway led onto the back porch that faced south.

“Come with me.”

“All right.”

He opened the back door, stepped onto the porch and brought her with him. Crickets hummed merrily in the bushes and the cooling evening air carried with it the scent of newly cut grass. “See that new house next door?”

He eased her in front of him, clasped both of her shoulders in his hands. He liked standing this near, the fragrance of her hair and skin teasing his nose.

“I do.”

“See how these porch stairs lead to that cobbled walk?” He pointed at the walk and its eventual terminal at a mirror-image set of stairs onto the neighbor’s back porch.

The house was dark, just as it should be.

“And just around the corner,” he gestured toward the front of the house, “another exit and porch off the sitting room leads to another paved walkway to a matching door at the neighbor’s house.”

“Whose?” She turned a little, to better see him over her shoulder.

Long shadows stretched across the thin lawn, planted only two months previous. Before long, the grass would be thick enough to cut.

The lengthening shadows and fading daylight only served to remind him he hadn’t offered his underweight bride anything more to nourish herself than lemonade since their arrival at home— and that had been at least an hour earlier.

“You’re hungry. I should feed you.”

“Nonsense. Tell me whose house is next door.”

“Guess.”

She chuckled. “Let me see. Hmmm. Who have I met thus far? Our minister at the Baptist church?”

“No.” Her good humor made him smile.

“A very nice old woman who will become my closest friend.”

“No. She lives next door on the other side.”

“Good to know. Who, then?”

He took full advantage of the moment and slipped his arms about her middle, pulling her back against his chest. “That house,” he pointed, then restored his hold about her tiny waist, “is a perfect mirror image of this one. Precisely the same in every way, except for a bit of coloring on the outside and a few finishing touches on the inside.”

“You don’t say?”

“In fact, the builder called these twin homes.”

She laughed. A joyful, bright melody that snagged his heart and made him feel more hopeful than he’d been in a long while.

“It’s rather convenient,” he whispered in her ear, “for my Second to walk to work. It’ll be most convenient, too, I suppose, for my wife—”

She spun in his arms and before he could say another word, she’d slipped her arms about his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

Lessie’s enjoyment of this palatial home her husband had built doubled upon realizing Josie would live next door. Josie would be nearby, enjoy the same luxury, the same convenience.

Most importantly, solid proof that Adam had every intention of returning to Ogden City with Josie.

Joy fairly vibrated within Lessie as she followed her husband upstairs to tour the grand second floor. The residence carried the faint smells of paint, varnish, sawdust. All sweet-smelling, clean, and welcoming.

“This house… it’s so big for just two of us.” She’d never imagined this kind of space, so many various rooms all with different purposes.

“It’s possible we’ll soon increase the size of our family, Lessie. We might need a nursery or two.”

Children.

Babies
.

One of the reasons so many of their friends had sought the opportunity to be mail order brides. Like most of the unmarried women she knew, she did want children… eventually.

Richard turned, met her gaze, the glow of gas light shining on his wavy black hair. He really was a handsome man. Especially now that he knew his good-natured heart and all the preparation he’d gone through for her… before he’d known who his mail order bride would be.

The men couldn’t have known they’d find twins to wed, but they’d obviously meant it when they’d advertised for brides with close family ties. Who else would want matching houses with the convenience of two or three walkways between their residences?

“Look at this,” he said, gesturing to three open doorways.

The hallway offered three doorways all near one another. From where she stood, she took in three bedrooms, one on the south side already made up as a nursery with a crib, a tall chest of drawers, and a rocking chair.

Tears would flow if she weren’t careful, so she turned to look in the west-facing bedchamber over the front porch. This one was stately, a big bed dominating the middle of the room.

Her tummy tingled at the thought of sharing that bed with her husband.

“Guest room,” he murmured. “In case you have a friend or two wishing to come for a visit. “I suspect some of those other brides who left the Brown Textile Mill might want to check on you and Josie. Coming to scary Utah Territory and all.”

That made her laugh aloud. “I’ll write to them all right away.”

“Please do.”

He turned and showed her what must be their bedroom. But this one had been prepared for little children. Older than infants, with two low beds and a toy chest. Two chests of drawers, bright curtains at the windows.

Without saying so, her husband clearly prepared for the eventuality of fatherhood.

His recognition of the responsibility, as well as the hope for the next generation, made her soften toward him even more. He might be clueless about many things… but about this, about family and parenthood and looking to the future… he understood everything that mattered.

Tears threatened. She would
not
cry. Tears, even happy tears, were useless. So she shoved them aside and grasped for the closest topic of conversation that wouldn’t bring more emotion.

“Nowhere for us to sleep?”

“Surely you don’t think I’d plan for sons and daughters and not provide for you?”

“It did occur to me.” Teasing was so much easier than allowing his kindness and foresight to steal her heart.

“Come with me, Mrs. Cannon.” He strode toward the back of the house, passing closed doors. “Closet. Storage.”

A discovery for another time.

“Stairs to the attic,” he added.

“A lavatory.” He paused to turn on the gas light in the smaller room than the full bathroom downstairs. This one offered the convenience of a commode and a pedestal sink. But no bathtub. She couldn’t help but wonder if the enormous tub had been too heavy or too large to maneuver up the staircase during construction.

“I argued with the builder,” Richard said, obviously following her gaze and reading her too clearly, “about a bath tub upstairs. The only thing I dislike about this house is the only tub is downstairs, as close to the front entrance as any bathing room I’ve ever noticed. But the builder insisted the architect knew precisely what he was doing, and to mess with the design would be an affront to his sensitivities.”

She didn’t care. The convenience,
inside,
seemed so grand, so unlike anything she’d ever imagined she’d experience in her lifetime. “It’s perfect. I love it.”

“You haven’t seen the best part.” He kissed her forehead.

Her insides trembled. She almost didn’t want to see their bedroom. That had to be all that remained, didn’t it?

But into the bedroom he took her, his hand clasping hers. He turned on the gas lamps, one on each side of the bed and looped an arm about her shoulders.

This room was about the same size as the other three— a five bedroom home, counting the room on the main floor he used as an office.

A palatial house so far above her station she didn’t know what to think.

The big bed stood as a focal point of the room, the headboard tucked askew in a corner so that windows on the east and on the north allowed for a cross-breeze. She imagined the arrangement allowed for comfortable sleeping on a hot summer’s night.

No fireplaces… or stoves… in any of the bedrooms. “What about heat?”

She realized this room had to be above the kitchen and would stay warm, but what about the children’s rooms?

“Central heating.”

Her eyes rounded. The extravagance—

“Coal furnace in the basement. I’ll tend to it. You don’t need to do a thing.”

What had she done to deserve this kind of luxury?

She couldn’t meet her husband’s eye for fear the tears would creep back in. She fought the lump in her throat and noticed the closet door standing open… so much room for clothing. Many things of his already hung inside. The suite of furniture all had the same lustrous sheen of dark wood. A lady’s writing desk near one window balanced a lady’s vanity on the other. A large chest of drawers, twice the size of those in other bedrooms, completed the ensemble.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“It’s wonderful. I do like it. Very much.”

“It’s actually the smallest of the bedrooms in the house.”

That surprised her. The room was so generously proportioned.

“The front bedroom,” he tipped his head toward the guest room facing the street, “is designed for the master, I suppose, but the window faces west. In the summer it’s far hotter than this east side. I moved in during the heat of July and wanted the cooler room.

That made perfect sense. She nodded in agreement.

“I also enjoy the sunlight in the early mornings. I enjoy waking to the rising sun.”

Oh, the luxury of sleeping that long. She’d spent so many years walking to work in the pre-dawn darkness, rising long before daybreak, that the thought of sleeping longer, until the rising sun nudged her awake, seemed the grandest privilege ever.

“Thank you.” Emotion clogged her throat, even as she turned to meet her husband’s eye. “Your home is beautiful.”

“
Our
home.” He smiled, so warm and genuine and hopeful. “I built this home for you.”

Chapter Eight